


To Thine Own Self, Be True.

by yubiwamonogatari



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (s), M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/pseuds/yubiwamonogatari
Summary: This was written for Ruto, for her birthday! The resquest was Trans Bilbo and Thorin :3. This is only a little bit late, so go me!!! I hope you enjoy your present :D And a massive thanks to the wonderful Kelly, who also beta'd this piece! Another massive thanks goes to Chris, who helped me get the tone and wording right.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



 

 

 

“No, no, you can't think of it like that,” Kíli said in his most patient voice. Bilbo took another sip of the weak coffee he'd been given. It was a brew made with the final few beans, a last-ditch attempt to keep them awake and walking away from the Misty Mountains, and from Azog’s wargs.

“He's right,” Fíli nodded. “The sort of stone dwarves are made of matters much more. If you tried to categorize stone based on it's _shape_ you'd be there for centuries! It doesn't make sense.”

Bilbo bit back a deep yawn and shivered, clutching the tin mug closer to his chest. Dawn was barely breaking but already they were marching onwards. Thorin, despite his injuries, was still in the lead, ploughing through the miles with a fierce expression, and Orcrist in his grip.

“Well, yes,” Bilbo said, “but... look, I'm not trying to be crude, but don't dwarves come in, ah... one of two, um, shapes?”

Kíli looked over to Fíli, and then around the line of grouchy dwarves.

“Surely we can't all look that similar to you?” he asked, Fíli chuckling along.

“I didn't mean... I meant...” Bilbo stuttered, quickly downing the last of the bitter coffee and hooking the mug into the rucksack on his back. If the coffee wasn't warming him up, the blush on his cheeks definitely was doing the job. He sighed. “I mean...surely dwarves, like hobbits, come in one of two _certain types_. Shapes.”

When the brothers continued to look at him blankly Bilbo glanced around to make sure no one else was looking, and made a very deliberate gesture downwards.

Fíli and Kíli burst into laughter, drawing a few exhausted glares from the rest of the company. Bilbo's cheeks burned, and he scowled at them for laughing.

“Oh, Master Baggins,” Kíli laughed, slinging his arm around Bilbo's shoulders, “are you saying every hobbit looks the same under their breech-cloths? You don't come in different sizes and shapes, hobbit to hobbit?”

Bilbo groaned, trying to shove Kíli's arm off and wishing he'd never brought the damn subject up.

“Of course not, it's all a little different, but in _principle_ it's one of two, isn't it?”

“Not to us,” said Fíli. “There’s all sorts of shapes, really, and besides, I’ve never seen why men and hobbits got so worked up about it all.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Kíli. “It doesn't matter at all. Now what guild you belong to, on the other hand...”

Bilbo rubbed his forehead.

“But,” he interjected, trying to wrap his head around what they were telling him, “you call each other brother, and Thorin is your King, and you say 'he' and 'his', don't you?”

“We do,” Fíli nodded. “But Westron is not _our_ language, and menfolk have strange ideas about any they consider not to be 'men'. We all use the same term outside the mountains. It makes things easier, and trade smoother. Our names, too. We have two; our sky-name, and another in Khuzdul.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks. Something great and heavy bloomed up inside of him, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Are you saying that...you're not all men?”

Fíli shot him a kindly smile, like he was a very small child asking very stupid questions.

“Look, to try to carve it into something you might understand...no. I very much doubt we all fit your idea of a man. But that's not the point,” Fíli pressed. “It doesn't _matter_ what shape you are, it's how your forge burns. Mahal carved us and gave us words to describe ourselves as we wish. There are so many shapes that we don't categorize by it, you see?”

Bilbo nodded, a ringing sound in his ears.

“So... no matter what your shape is,” he said softly, “you are free to be whatever you'd like? If you're a dwarf?”

“Now he's getting it,” Kíli grinned, clapping him on the back. “Guilds are much more important, anyway.”

Fíli nodded enthusiastically, the two brothers launching into a great explanation of dwarven guilds and craft halls.

Bilbo wasn't listening. His heart was leaping in his chest like a fluttering sparrow, and he felt shaky on his feet. To be free like that, truly free, without shame or the scathing mutterings of neighbours... He couldn't imagine it. It sounded wonderful.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Bilbo scrubbed at his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth, courtesy of Beorn. Well, one of Beorn's very kindly sheep, who had found him in tears, hidden behind a pile of hay. He blew his nose and leaned back against the bale, calming his breathing.

He'd gone for an afternoon nap after a splendid lunch, only to be woken by a terrible nightmare. A confusing mishmash of images from his childhood, except the sneering hobbits were orcs, and the Shire was burning, and some terrible great thing was _watching_ him.

“Master Baggins...?”

Bilbo jumped, eyes flying open to look at the figure standing above him.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Thorin. I... I was just… having a little sit and a think, here.”

Thorin's gaze flicked over the handkerchief and his face, something in his expression softening.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Yes, oh, yes,” Bilbo nodded. He made a move to stand, but before he could clamber to his feet, Thorin was sitting down on the soft hay and leaning back against the bale with a grunt.

“Something is troubling you. It's best to speak about it, and not let it linger. Perhaps it can be resolved.”

Bilbo bit down on his bottom lip, gaze dropping to his hands.

“It's quite silly, really. Honestly. Just a bad dream, and, well...” He trailed off, smoothing the handkerchief out over his knees and fiddling with the corners.

Thorin sat patiently, and in silence. Bilbo swallowed, feeling another hot rush of tears well up inside him.

“It's just...I've been keeping a secret from you all, you see. And I spent so many years thinking it was this big, terrible secret, and it's been so _heavy_ , in the Shire, and I've tried so hard to keep it from you all, but now I think I might... I might've been keeping a secret from the few people on this good green earth who might not think it's such a big, terrible secret at all, and that's like seeing a mountain for the first time, or an orc, I think.”

He brought the handkerchief up to his cheeks. Bother and blast these damn tears! He was making a fool of himself, but Thorin wasn't leaving, or looking at him with anything other than concern and mild curiosity.

Bilbo took a deep breath.

“Fíli and Kíli told me about dwarves. About how... you all dress like the same outside the mountains, but it's different inside.”

“Ah,” Thorin said, a thread of understanding crinkling the lines around his eyes. “They did mention that, yes. They had some questions about hobbits in general I could not answer. Though I have more years under my beard dealing with men, elves, and hobbits, I am by no means an expert. Your ways are just as strange to us as ours surely are to you. Is.. this what has been troubling you?” Thorin asked.

Concern was suddenly written deep into the lines on his face, and he turned his head towards Bilbo.

“These differences, regarding our genders? I cannot claim to understand why it should affect you so deeply, but then again, if your ways are like the ways of men, there are great differences between your two, are there not?”

“No!” yelped Bilbo, flushing under Thorin's heavy gaze. “Well,” he amended, “well, yes, I suppose. And there are great differences, but no, yes, but not in, perhaps, the way you might expect. I mean my troubles, not the differences. I'm making as much sense as a turnip in a potato salad,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands for a moment and trying to collect his racing thoughts.

Thorin sat quietly for a moment before he shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

“Master Baggins, if the idea of having what you might call women in your Company unsettles you,” he began. Bilbo shook his head frantically and opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Thorin was continuing. “Then you must remember between dwarves, there is no difference in hardiness, constitution, nor courage – save where character decides. Some of our mightiest dwarves might be considered women by your terms, such as Narvi, or Azaghâl, the wounder of the dragon Glaurung. Though I am exiled from my home, and am not yet honoured to have title beyond Oakenshield, I have led my people to the Blue Mountains, and ruled there. When our Quest ends and we have taken back Erebor, I shall be crowned, after all. I urge you to reconsider your ideas, but if it is too much for you, then perhaps it is best you stay here with Beorn and travel back when spring comes.”

“What?” said Bilbo. He felt fuzzy all over, inside and out. Thorin's words rang round and round his head.

“I said, if having what you think of as women in the company is unsettling, perhaps it is best you stay with Beorn, and return to the Shire in the spring.”

Bilbo looked up to Thorin, distractedly noting the hardening of his expression.

“My secret,” he said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, “is had I been born a dwarf, I wouldn't have had a secret at all.”

Thorin's brow wrinkled in confusion for a moment. Then understanding softened his features, and he quirked a small, rare smile.

“I am sorry you have had to carry that burden,” he said softly.

Bilbo laughed shortly, nodding his head.

“Yes, well. It seems silly now, so utterly silly, to suffer for something which isn't anyone else's business. And then to carry it on, when I’m amongst friends, though I haven’t many of those. After all,” he said, swallowing hard and raising his chin a little with all the courage and pride he could muster, “I’m quite used to being master of my own business, you understand. I took over Bag End, after my parents, and managed my father’s business, and the home, and all the duties which came with it.”

“No small feat,” Thorin replied.

Bilbo jerked his head in agreement and promptly burst back into nearly silent tears, burying his face in the handkerchief. Thorin’s warm hand on his back was soothing, but it wasn’t misery or anger he was crying from.

It was relief.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“And you’re sure I’m not going to end up king, somehow?” Bilbo sniffed, turning the marriage contracts over in his hands. He wriggled his toes under the covers, resting against Thorin’s broad chest as he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Because there was an incident twenty years ago, where Mayor Lyonelle Richey locked herself in her private pantry by accident, was declared missing, and her poor husband had to be mayor for a week before he found her. She very happy, and quite content to stay in the pantry as long as it was restocked, really. Anyway, he was a dreadful mayor, and will always be remembered as such. I don’t want any of that, thank you very much.”

Thorin laughed and Bilbo grinned as two warm, broad arms snaked around his middle.

“I promise you, you will not be made king. Fíli is heir in case of any pantry-related incidents, and should we both be locked in, Kíli will rule in his brother’s stead.”

“That’s a relief,” Bilbo smiled, turning his head to steal a soft kiss from Thorin’s lips. “It’ll make it easier for us to visit the Shire, too. Won’t it?”

He wriggled as Thorin’s beard brushed against his cheek, letting the marriage contracts flutter off the edge of the wide, warm bed.

“It will,” said Thorin, his voice low as Bilbo turned in his arms, straddling his thighs with ease.

Bilbo’s smile turned mischievous, and he gently tilted Thorin’s chin up so he could press another kiss to his mouth.

“Well. That sounds reason enough for a celebration, don’t you think?”

“More than,” Thorin answered, hands tightening on Bilbo’s thighs.

All in all, Bilbo thought as Thorin rolled them over amidst their laughter, he’d done rather well out of this little adventure. He had two homes, a group of excellent friends, and a husband-to-be. For a little hobbit from the Shire, that wasn’t so bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [Someone reported my fics on Ao3 - This is why!](http://yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com/post/148307664796/so-someone-reported-me-on-ao3)
> 
>  
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>  
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr!](http://www.yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com)
> 
> It was so much fun to write this, and to take a theme like this and apply it to two very different cultures with different ideas of gender.
> 
> Enjoyed this piece? Consider leaving me a comment to let me know ♥


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